


And So It Goes

by guineapiggie



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Heavy Angst, I do not use this tag lightly so be warned, Inspired by Music, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Survivor Guilt, also it's so cynical, my previous work was too happy and I had to bring back the misery, this is soon after Scarif and it's full of pain, why do my favourites suffer the most
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 20:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9402458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineapiggie/pseuds/guineapiggie
Summary: He is twenty-six, and he – he’s not sure if he’slived,he supposes that depends on where you’re standing, but he is soexhausted.He’s so young, he knows that somewhere in the back of his head, but he has seen too much.(Some days, he locks himself in a dark room for hours on end, just so his tired brain doesn’t have to process any new images.)And every time I've held a rose, it seems I've only felt the thornsAnd so it goes, and so it goes - and so will you soon, I suppose





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song "And So It Goes" by Billy Joel, title and lyrics below also from that song.  
> If you want to place this within my other works, I'd say this is about at the end of the first third of "Beinahe", y'know, between their release from the medbay and him fixing her lamp.
> 
> ~~_I'm sorry._ ~~

_I spoke to you in cautious tones_  
_You answered me with no pretence_  
_And still I feel I said too much_  
_My silence is my self-defence_  
  
_And every time I've held a rose_  
_It seems I only felt the thorns_  
_And so it goes, and so it goes_  
_And so will you, soon, I suppose_

 

* * *

 

The thing about his life is this: it goes on.

Cassian is so used to having to fight tooth and claw to keep it that way, to keep the right to a beating heart, that this one time he was saved by someone else, it leaves him confused and lost.

He is twenty-six, and he – he’s not sure if he’s _lived,_ he supposes that depends on where you’re standing, but he is so _exhausted._ He’s so young, he knows that somewhere in the back of his head, but he has seen too much.

(Some days, he locks himself in a dark room for hours on end, just so his tired brain doesn’t have to process any new images.)

The thing about pain, the thing about everything, is this: it fades.

Cassian knows this. The one truth in his life is that nothing is forever; in the end, it all goes.

And there are two people on this base who have seen the same thing, but Bodhi – though he has seen the beach and the carnage, though he has endured as much pain as the rest of them, though he too has lived where everyone else hasn’t – Bodhi is so _innocent_ in this whole ordeal. Bodhi deserves absolution.

(And part of Cassian’s pain is that he is not, and he does not.)

 _She_ knows. And in a better world, in a simpler world, he would go to her and they would talk. He could ask her anything, she would be honest, he knows that, she wouldn’t try to go easy on him –

In a simpler world, he could go to her, and they could be each other’s comfort, they could hold each other up and struggle out of this mess together.

(Cassian thinks he’d give just about anything to live in that world.)

But the one person who knows, who’d understand; the one person he wants to be close to, she’s part of the problem.

(Looking at her, oh, still, after all these months –

He still sees her, skin streaked with unspeakable shades of red and black, wreathing and screaming on the cold floor of the cargo bay; he’s still struggling to _move,_ an ability he never paid much mind to until it was gone, fighting an invisible force trying to get to her, do something, _anything,_ to wipe that unbearable agony off her face; he still feels his strength and his will and his eyesight and his consciousness slip through his fingers like the fine white sand on the beaches of Scarif; and still, still, after all this time –

He remembers thinking _of all the people, I failed_ them _._

Looking at her, still after so long – it _hurts._ It still tears and yanks and jerks at a heart he honestly thought couldn’t be broken into any smaller pieces, it still feels like ashes and sand and vacuum in his lungs instead of air and burning heat scorching his skin.)

But, even though it takes all his self-control to keep looking, he can see some of the shadows in her beautiful green eyes retreat as he does, and that is enough.

So he swallows the pain and keeps his head up and smiles, and tries his best to sit with her in the mess hall. Tries his best to talk without wincing when the memories hit him unprepared.

And when she crawls into his bed – this doesn’t happen often, thank the maker, he doesn’t think he could take it – he moves over and makes room for her, and puts an arm around her if the nightmares shake her awake, and wonders what hurts more: that she’s so close, or that she’s not close enough.

(The joke’s on him, as always, he thinks sometimes, and it puts a wry smile on his lips. Something that he wants so much, something so powerful and so beautiful at his fingertips, and all he can feel is pain.)

But for the first time in weeks, Jyn looks rested in the morning, and she almost manages a convincing smile, and that is enough.

He will stay, for as long as she needs him, and he will go if she doesn’t, and if it kills him.

He doesn’t know which of these options would do the trick. Neither of them feels survivable to him – every time he turns his back on her, he feels like he’s leaving his heart behind. Not in a romantic sense - it feels like he’s leaving a vital organ behind, like something is pulling him back by every vein and every artery in his body; it’s not even remotely romantic, it’s painful and disgusting and wrong.

Every time he looks at her, he thinks it will suffocate him.

But he will stay, for as long as she needs him, and he will go if she doesn’t – and one of the two might kill him.

He has decided this is her choice to make.

(After all, they were going to die together.)

He’s not quite sure about that treacherous throbbing little thing in his chest that has had the audacity to keep beating when it shouldn’t have and to stumble and race and make him feel _alive_ when it should at least have the decency to make him _feel_ like he was dead. He’s absolutely not sure how he feels about it, and he’s not sure what to do with it –

But he knows she can have it, if that helps her even a little bit. He doesn’t care what she does with it.

She can have it.

 

* * *

 

 

 _And this is why my eyes are closed_  
_It's just as well for all I've seen_  
_And so it goes, and so it goes_  
_And you're the only one who knows_

 _So I would choose to be with you_  
_That's if the choice were mine to make_  
_But you can make decisions too_  
_And you can have this heart to break_


End file.
